


Dark Horse

by sophiahelix



Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: 2018 Winter Olympics, Accidental Voyeurism, M/M, POV Outsider
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-29
Updated: 2018-03-29
Packaged: 2019-04-14 13:44:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14137227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sophiahelix/pseuds/sophiahelix
Summary: The sound that woke up him was loud, something like a lamp falling over, maybe shattering glass. This is softer, but right behind him — a muffled thump, like something being pushed against the wall. Then he hears the voices.All right, Shoma’s awake now.





	Dark Horse

**Author's Note:**

> Poor Shoma.
> 
> Thanks to shdwsilk for letting me talk at her until I figured out a title.
> 
> [Work will remain unlocked until 4/1]

Shoma is lost in deep, blissful sleep, his favorite place to be, when he wakes up to the sound of a crash.

It always takes him a while to get it together after being suddenly awakened, or awakened at all, and tonight is no different. He remembers where he is first — Korea, hotel room — and then gradually the day comes back, the skating and the medal and the endless endless press. Finally he looks over to see that Keiji’s bed is empty, because he hasn’t come back early all week. Shoma might have a silver medal, but he’s the only one who was falling asleep at the victory party.

Whatever woke him up wasn’t in this room, he thinks, and just then there's another noise on the other side of the wall. 

The sound that woke up him was loud, something like a lamp falling over, maybe shattering glass. This is softer, but right behind him — a muffled thump, like something being pushed against the wall. Then he hears the voices.

All right, Shoma’s awake now.

He knows about fifteen English words, mostly related to skating. Nothing he’s hearing has anything to do with skating, he’s sure; it’s just low, intense murmurs broken up from time to time. Shoma thinks about what must be breaking them up, and feels a solid wave of heat sweep down from the top of his head to his toes, his cheeks flaming up.

Nobu told him about this, last summer on the tour. Shoma was rooming at the other end of the hall, but Nobu got stuck next to Yuzuru every night in every hotel, which meant by default he got stuck next to Yuzuru and Javi.

“They’re so _loud_ ,” Nobu told him one morning over breakfast, dark circles under his wide eyes. “I don’t care what they do, but they do it so _loud_. And all night, too.”

They skated barely twelve hours ago, Shoma thinks, looking at the clock as he rolls over and pulls the blankets up to cover his ear. They can’t be loud for that long. Even Yuzuru doesn’t have that much energy.

The bed on the other side of the wall creaks, like someone’s climbing onto it. Shoma tugs the blankets tighter around his face, squeezing his eyes shut. He’s slept through worse, probably.

“Ohhhh,” someone moans, long and loud, definitely Yuzuru. The bedsprings creak again. “Javi.”

“Yeah,” Shoma hears, lower than Yuzuru’s voice, and then something in English that he can’t understand. It sounds encouraging, though, or goading, and Yuzuru gasps out a response. He moans again, even louder this time. 

The blush in Shoma’s face has never really faded, but now it flares up hotter than ever. He gets the sense that Yuzuru is actually — trying to be loud? Maybe that’s what Javi told him, to be loud enough to wake up the whole Japanese team. Or maybe Javi said he was going to _make_ him be.

Shoma shudders.

He doesn’t really watch porn these days. He’s seen some stuff before, and when he gets the urge in bed at night he lets it play through his mind, the same images over and over, breasts and asses and bare bodies moving together. Rarely faces, and almost never anyone he knows. It’s simpler that way, and Shoma likes things to be simple.

Once he saw Javi reach over to Yuzuru at an ice show practice, closing his hand over the back of Yuzuru’s neck. It probably looked friendly from a distance, but Shoma could see the way Javi’s strong fingers were so tight against Yuzuru’s collarbone, and more than that, he saw how Yuzuru responded. Eyes widening, and then he turned to look up at Javi, his mouth falling open just a little, breathing harder. Javi smiled.

Shoma thought about it that night, and the next. A few nights since then, if he’s honest. Never thinking too hard about what it was that struck him so, there in Yuzuru’s dark, hazy stare, or Javi’s slow, secret smile. 

Now he’s imagining it again, as the bed creaks like Yuzuru’s rolling over, getting up on his hands and knees. Javi’s hand on Yuzuru’s neck, his shoulders, his hips, positioning him the way he wants. Yuzuru is Shoma’s teammate, and his elder, and his friend. It’s not right to think about him this way, but it’s hard to help it, when there’s the audible smack of Yuzuru’s hands on the wall right over his head. 

Javi mutters something, low as before, but with a filthy edge to it that sends a thrill through Shoma. Javi was kind today, drawing Shoma into that hug by the ice just before the first ceremony, smiling at him and speaking a little Japanese before they got their medals. He makes an effort to include Shoma in things, when he remembers. But it’s always felt like an afterthought, a cover for when he and Yuzuru are messing around too much, being too obvious with too many cameras on them. He's friendly to Shoma, but it's no more personal than with any other skater. Javi’s just a nice guy.

Still, it had to sting today, losing silver. Shoma knows that, because he’s still blinking through the same numb fog he’s felt all season, trailing and never able to catch up. Today Javi was kind, to Shoma and Yuzuru both, but maybe he wants to get a little of his own back tonight.

Shoma beat Javi this morning, but it doesn't feel like it now.

“Oh,” Yuzuru groans, sounding like the breath just got knocked out of him. The wooden headboard grinds into the wall, and Shoma knows exactly what’s happening, can see it in better detail than he wants, than he’s ever allowed himself to imagine. Javi pushing into Yuzuru, fast and deep, his lower lip between his teeth. Yuzuru says something else in English, and it sounds like a command, like _come on, give it to me_.

Javi does. Shoma’s holding his breath now, fingers tight and bloodless where they’re clutching the blanket over his head, knees drawn up, listening to them fuck. The headboard slams against the wall, and Yuzuru’s so loud, louder, almost loud enough to drown out the sound of Javi behind him, gasping out things Shoma is glad he can’t understand. 

The pace is brutal, punishing, and Shoma spares a thought for their knees, which must be aching after a day’s work. Then it slows for a moment, coming off rhythm, and he hears Yuzuru let out another sound, different than before. This one is soft and whimpering, surprised, and Shoma realizes the noises Yuzuru’s been making were somewhat put on, a little showy. Maybe for everyone else’s benefit, or maybe for Javi’s. Maybe both.

Whatever it is, Javi seems to know, because what he’s doing now is making Yuzuru moan for real. Gasping, whining, even as the pace sounds slow and grinding, like Javi’s rocking his hips into Yuzuru instead of snapping them hard. Maybe he’s jerking Yuzuru off at the same time, or pushing into him at an angle to hit that spot Shoma’s heard about but is too embarrassed to find for himself. Maybe both.

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” Yuzuru gasps out, sounding desperate, on the edge, and the headboard slams harder against the wall again.

Shoma sees the scene in a blinding flash, his eyes still squeezed shut. Them kneeling on the bed, still dressed, pants and briefs yanked down just enough to fuck. Javi gripping Yuzuru’s bare hip tight, hauling him back onto his cock, with his other hand wrapped around Yuzuru’s own cock, straining and hard beneath his fingers. Yuzuru stretched out, hands braced against the wall, or maybe one hand clutching the sheets. His face scrunched up and his eyes closed, mouth open as he sobs out Javi’s name.

“Javi, Javi,” Yuzuru cries, on the other side of the wall. 

His noises are nothing but real now, and Shoma hears him gasping for breath as he comes with a long, quiet moan, like it’s muffled against the bed. There’s a pause, and then the bed starts creaking again, quick and sharp, like Javi’s thrusting into him with short strokes, maybe one hand spread against the middle of his back to keep him down. Javi groans something in English, or Spanish, and then he’s taking in deep, shuddering breaths too, letting out obscene gasps as he comes.

There’s a sound like he’s thrown himself onto the bed, flopping down. A low murmur of something from Yuzuru, a laugh from Javi, sweet and intimate. More shifting, and finally, almost immediately, quiet.

Shoma lets out his breath.

He doesn’t think, as he rolls over, onto his belly. He reaches down to where he's hard in his underwear, pulling himself up and straight. The firmness of the mattress under him is a relief, and he rocks his hips against it once before getting up on his knees a little, arms folded beneath his pillow, finding the right angle.

It doesn’t take long to get off, grinding against the bed. Shoma shoves his face into the pillow and just breathes, long and deep, losing himself in the sensation. He doesn’t need anything from porn tonight, no strangers’ bodies or filthy dialogue. He’s turned on in an urgent, consuming way, already so close to climax it’s easy to get himself there. He rocks and grinds and the pleasure builds on itself, like he’s starving for a meal or finally, finally scratching a terrible, shameful itch.

Shoma thinks of them again, fucking with such abandon, letting everybody on this floor hear them, and then he comes, letting out a groan as loudly as he can.

He rolls over after, staring up at the dark ceiling and feeling like he’s floating away from his own body. He’s exhausted and strangely light, and a pleased smile creeps across his face, until he almost laughs. For just a moment, he feels completely free. 

His underwear are wet. It’s a pain to take them off, but Shoma does it, working them down over his hips and pulling them over his knees. He scrubs at himself a little with them, cleaning up, then tosses them on the floor. There’s a wet spot in the bed too, but Shoma wriggles away from it, rolling over to the far edge. 

On the other side of the wall, there’s only quiet. He can’t tell if he’s relieved or disappointed. 

There’s still time for a full night’s sleep, at least, and if he sleeps in late enough he won't have to see Yuzuru being smug over breakfast. No practice, nothing to worry about except the gala, which nobody but Yuzuru takes very seriously. Probably more press. Probably some time with his family. Definitely no reason he has to see Yuzuru or Javi, and the next time they meet, he’ll probably be able to look them in the eye. Neither of them is going to Worlds, at least. 

Shoma closes his eyes, finally, and dreams of gold in Milan.

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr: http://sophia-helix.tumblr.com


End file.
